Idyll: A Sex Scene
Keywords: Scene, Idyll:, A, Sex,
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She's not cold. She's instinctively trying to hide from me. But she looks so sweet and vulnerable like that I don't say anything about her disobeying me. She's the slut discovered: the little girl who was caught dressing up in big girls' clothes and who now has to pay, and even her nervousness and uncertainty is delicious. Just looking at her makes me hot, makes me want to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her.
I walk behind her and strip off my sweater. I kick off my shoes and pull my socks off, then drop my pants and skin down my shorts. I make noise as I undress so she knows exactly what I'm doing, because I want her to know that I'm getting naked. I want her to think about being locked in this strange room with a naked wild man who wants her, all of her, just like in her fantasy.
I go up behind her and stand close. Closer. So close that just my hard cock makes contact with the tight skirt covering her ass, so she can feel that big hard spear all swollen for her. I run my fingers like gossamer down the naked smoothness of her back and watch the tide of goose bumps spread over her skin.
"Do you feel how hard I am for you, Ashley?" I ask. "That's what you do to me. You haven't touched me, haven't done a thing to me, and just looking at you and thinking about what I'm going to do has made me that hard."
My fingers go to her shoulders. I slide one bra strap down her arm, then the other. I'm so feverish for her now that even the bits of skin I expose seem terribly erotic to me, and I can't keep from kissing her there, where the straps have been. Her skin is soft and just slightly salty with excitement. She wants to twist away, but I've told her not to move. She looks lovely with her bra straps down: lovely and vulnerable.
My fingers go to the clasp on her bra. I unhook it and feel the garment sag under the weight of her heavy tits. I push her hands down to her sides. A slight touch and the bra slides from her body, falling like a whisper to the floor.
I take her hands now and clip her wrists back together behind her, emphasizing her nakedness. I don't know what excites me so much about tying her arms, the way it makes her seem so vulnerable, so trusting. I know how it is for her: it's hard for her to express herself sexually, and so she relies on me to express it for her, to bring all her hidden desires and shameful secrets out of her. She's so totally feminine, the way she waits to be taken and fucked, made to do the most horrible things. She doesn't show it, but that's what she wants. I know it.
Standing behind her I extend my arms in front of her. I bring my hands in slowly, until her nipples just touch my palms. They're stiff and eager, and tickle the palms of my hands as they rise to press against me with her breathing. Finally my touch is more than she can bear, and she caves her chest, bringing her shoulders up to protect herself.
I go to the dresser lamp and turn the lights off. I leave the bedside lamp on, and throw a red scarf over the shade. It's crude, I know, but it gives the dim light a lurid, red cast, making the room feel even warmer than it is. I come up before her, and I sink to my knees at her feet.
It's like a scene from some pagan religion, where the captor is now the captured. I reach behind her, pressing my cheek to her belly, and I find the zipper on the back of the skirt. I pull it down, and my fingers fumble at the clasp. I unhook it and I tug the tight skirt down over her hips.
She isn't wearing a slip. She's just wearing her stockings and the sapphire blue panties that are like the barest V of fabric over her groin, clinging to her, almost transparent. Above it is the smooth expanse of her belly, dotted with the inviting shadow of her naval. My face is on a level with her crotch, and I look up at her, my prisoner, over the fluid lines of her stomach, the arch of her rib cage, to the projection of her breasts. Her eyes are closed, her nostrils dilated. This is the moment of her triumph and shame, when she's revealed in her naked beauty, when my acceptance or rejection of her hangs in the balance.
The matter's already been decided, and there's no question that she owns my heart and soul at this moment. I push my face into her crotch as if I'm receiving a benediction, my fingers spread wide around the firm globes of her ass, squeezing hard, as if I could squeeze some feminine essence out of her and into my mouth; squeeze the sweetness out of her.
I inhale her, the smell of her perfume and her aroma of arousal. I push her back. She almost stumbles, but still I push her back, crawling after her on my knees, until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back upon it, unable to break her fall because her hands are bound behind her. My face is still in her crotch, and I'm like a demented dog, inhaling her smell, her humidity. I spread her thighs and I lick the crotch band of her panties, the wetness from my tongue meeting her own wetness from the other side, feeling the puffiness of her pussy, engorged with excitement. I try to move the tight crotch piece with my tongue but it's too tight. I'll have to take her panties off.
But that's all right. I need the respite in which to regain control of myself anyhow. I'm letting my excitement run away with me, the excitement of having her like this with me, the way I've always fantasized.
I stand up and go to the dresser where the toys are laid out, and I take the nipple clamps. She watches me nervously, but she doesn't protest as I slip the little rings down the tweezer ends and open the silver clips.
"Sit up," I tell her.
"Rob, wait. Do you have to?"
"Sit up."
She does as I say and I kneel with one leg on the bed. Her hair is piled in back of her head and held with pins but I can still grab enough to tilt her face back for my kiss, and my kiss is searching, cautious, making sure she's still at that high level of excitement I want her at. She is. She's frightened, but her tongue is eager too, and tells me she's ready for this but I have to hurry, to catch her at this peak of surrender.
I place the legs of one clamp around her nipple and slide the little ring up, tightening the legs. Higher, and the higher it goes the tighter the clip grasps the excited little bud. She watches, frowning, but fascinated as the little arms close on her flesh, squeezing her, until she makes a little sound, a whimper of discomfort. I make it just a little tighter and there I stop.
I do the same with the other clamp, and when I'm finished her breasts are connected by a silver chain that glimmers in the dim light of the room. There's the symbolism of the chain against her naked skin, the sight of the token cruelty of the hard and unforgiving metal on the softness of her flesh, hard like the urgency of my desire. There's the weight of the dangling chain pulling gently at her breasts, like a constant reminder to her of her own femininity.
I sit behind her and pull the pins from her hair. I seek them out and pull them free one by one, until her hair falls down around her shoulders. I gather it up in my hands and use it to pull her back against me, pull her back and turn her face to me so I can kiss her, licking her lips, biting her gently. I can't keep my other hand from coming around and finding the chain. I pull it slightly, distending her nipples and making her gasp. I control her tits, just like I control the rest of her. She's my slave for the night.
"Lie back now," I say, and I arrange the pillows for her.
Then I'm off the bed. I lie her down, take the waistband of her panties in my hands and tug them down. She lifts her hips to help me, fearful that I'll rip them in my excitement. By the time they're down to her thighs they've rolled into no more than a thin band of fabric, and I tug them off and throw them on a chair.
There's no way she can hide now, and nothing she can do but lie there clad only in her stockings and shoes, the silver chain puddled between her breasts.
I kiss the dome of her shoulder, the soft hillocks of her breasts, my hand tracing down the valley of her stomach, the well of her navel. She's shaved for me. She's as bare and naked as a child, innocent, with no secrets. I feel the rawness of where she's shaved, like a baby's face with the beginning of a five-o'clock shadow. It couldn't have been easy for her, but she did it for me.
Then my lips are following my fingers down her body, my mouth open like the mouth of a starving man so I can feel her skin rub against my lips as I go. I don't stand on ceremony and I don't tease. I want her in my mouth. I want the softness of her sex, all that sensitivity and excitement. I want to drive her wild, and more than that, I want to satisfy this carnal craving for her I can feel like an ache in my mouth. My lips slide over her shaved mound and close wetly over her slit.
She jerks in the bed, her hips thrusting up at me in reflex as she arches off the bed with a sudden, unexpected gasp of need. I grab her ankles in my hands and push her legs up, knees to her chest, exposing her before she can think to deny me. I use my tongue on her, my lips capturing her slick labia, my tongue plowing through her unresisting flesh. It's so sweet the way a woman gets excited: how she gets softer and swollen, wet and pink with suffused blood. The sheer tactile pleasure of her beneath my lips and tongue inflames me and makes me groan out loud.
I sink into the pleasure of her body. All the tying and grabbing and forcing is done, all to bring us to this moment. I've had to bind her, not only for the sight of her helplessness, but to keep her from interfering with my own enjoyment of her body. If her hands were free she'd be caressing me in return, trying to reciprocate the pleasure, and I don't want that. She's here to witness what I feel for her, to see what she does to me. She's here to be used for my pleasure.
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Keywords: Scene, Idyll:, A, Sex,